Today started like any other day. I woke up at 7am to reset my alarm for 7:15am. I brushed my teeth while trying to keep the cat out of the sink, and I went to the bathroom while trying to keep the cat out of the toilet. I have no idea what his fascination is with things that come out of my body, but I suspect it has something to do with him being a stupid cat.
I jumped in the shower and nearly killed myself because we have sliding shower doors, and if you try to jump into a shower that has sliding shower doors you will smack your face on the upper door-track, crush your genitals by landing on the edge of the tub with one foot in and one foot out, and finally smash your head on the edge of the toilet where your cat is frantically trying to lift the lid and cover himself in water swimming with fecal colliform bacteria.
After my shower I got dressed, went downstairs, and ate 3 of my shit cookies. I figured that they were full of fiber from the oats, and protein from the peanut butter, so they’d be a perfectly bland tasting breakfast treat. They remind me more and more of Powerbars. After 74 glasses of milk to wash down the 3 cookies, I was on my way out the door.
I jumped in the old Tercel, checked my new mirrors, and was on my way. In a few minutes I was merging onto the highway, and the trailer I had suddenly accumulated a la Katamari Damacy was being pulled along splendidly. Wait. What? I don’t live in a video game. What the hell is behind me?
I checked the rearview mirror again and realized that the thing that I had assumed was a trailer (because only a trailer would have a reasonable excuse to be that close to me) was an idiotic woman (I know, it’s redundant) in her Camry, so close to the rear of my car that I could see clearly that she was smoking a Virginia Slim and her pink lipstick was coloring the filter.
I quickly realized that she was planning to slowly massage my tailpipe open and begin to slide her car inside like some sort of porno flick for Herbie and Christine, and I wanted no part of it, but I did want her to pay for her grievance.
I took my foot off the gas. My car, being a 96 Tercel P.O.S., began to slow down immediately. Within 10 seconds I had slowed by 15 miles per hour, and the Camry behind me clearly wasn’t happy that my tight little Tercel tailpipe wasn’t presenting as nicely as it had been before.
I continued to let my car slow until I was going about 35 miles per hour, my rear bumper as warm and appealing as an ice cream cooler in Siberia. It didn’t matter though, because the Camry was a whore, and this raging hard-on of an automobile flew past me and it’s true nature was revealed. I was just an appetizer for a chubby chaser. The Camry looked as if it was trying to get UNDER an 18 wheeler. There’s not enough 10w-30 motor oil in the world for that relationship to work.
